


The Library: A Great Place to Get Checked Out

by CloudAtlas



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Be_compromised Promptathon, F/M, Library Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quiet Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-19 02:49:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11888349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudAtlas/pseuds/CloudAtlas
Summary: For the prompt:sex in a library.





	The Library: A Great Place to Get Checked Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crystallitanie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystallitanie/gifts).



> Thanks to **inkvoices** for beta. And guys! Can I get a high five for my first use of the PWP tag?

They’re somewhere down in the law stacks because no one comes down here and the bathroom is just too far away.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Clint hisses into Natasha's mouth. “I can’t believe we’re gonna do this.”

“Shut up.”

She’s pulling at his belt, the clink of the metal buckle _really loud_ in the silence of the library, and her nails accidentally scratch across his lower stomach, little red lines appearing only to get swallowed up by his full-body flush.

Clint does try to shut up, but it’s really, _really_ hard when the hottest girl on his course is hell bent on fucking him in the law stacks of the library at three in the afternoon. He has no idea why Natasha Romanov even _picked_ him. There are tons of hot people on their course. Hell, they’re on the same course as UTech’s football god Steve Rogers. But for some _unfathomable_ reason, Natasha Romanov got drunk and kissed _him_ at a party two weeks ago and now keeps pulling him into deserted alcoves to suck him off and empty classrooms to fuck him through the wall.

How this is Clint’s life he has no fucking idea, but he’s not complaining.

Natasha forgoes unzipping him and instead shoves her hand down his pants to grip his dick through his boxers. Clint whines high in the back of his throat at the pressure before remembering _where they are_ and cutting himself off.

“C’mon, Barton, get with the program.”

Natasha's voice is hushed and she’s smirking at him. It’s doing things to his brain. And other places.

“Yeah,” Clint breathes out, caught momentarily on the brightness of her eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

He fumbles with his jeans, gets them and his boxes down around his thighs, and then turns them both so Natasha is wedged between the bookshelf and the window – the fucking _window_ ; thank Christ they’re frosted. His hands shake slightly as he takes the condom that magically appears in Natasha's hand, but actually getting it on his dick proves to be very difficult because just then Natasha decides to sink her hands into his hair and wrap her legs around his waist, bracing against the wall. Clint staggers, readjusting his stance so they don’t fall over.

“Fucking hell Natasha, warn a guy,” his mumbles into her mouth.

She’s grins, not giving him time to say anything else before she’s forcing her tongue past his teeth again. Not that Clint can think of anything much at all right now; all his – admittedly limited – brain power is currently focused on rolling the condom onto his dick before Natasha decides he’s taking too long and does it for him. Which has happened before, because this is _Natasha Romanov_ and what the hell is she doing with him?

“C’mon,” Natasha mutters, her hot breath spilling over his mouth. “Fucking – ”

Clint’s hands sweeping up and under her skirt are enough to cut her off and that would be great for the whole silence-in-the-library thing apart from Natasha might as well be wearing no underwear at all for all the good her _tiny little thong_ is doing.

Clint makes a highly embarrassing gut-punch noise.

“C’mon,” Natasha says again, wrapping her hand around his dick to guide him into her. “Rip ‘em.”

“Jesus,” Clint breathes out, hooking his fingers through the flimsy material over Natasha's cunt.

She’s fucking soaking, slippery with arousal and hot and… fucking _shaved_ and Clint knew that, he totally did, but most girls he’s slept with in college never bothered and Natasha just – makes him dumb. So, so fucking dumb.

He holds the material away from her with his fingers and then, because he can’t help himself, thumbs her clit just to watch her gasp and try to stay quiet.

“Jesus Christ,” he grinds out – probably too loud for where they are – as Natasha muffles her cries in his shoulder. “Jesus _fucking_ Christ.”

He pulls at her panties again; a sort of questioning tug saying, _Are you sure?_ and only when Natasha grinds out, “Fucking get on with it, Barton,” does he tug hard enough to rip the material.

The sound seems gunshot-loud and, _Christ_ , Clint has never done anything this fucking crazy in his _life;_ literally what the hell? But Natasha is panting in his ear – little, poorly muffled sounds that make sparks zip up and down his spine – and she’s slippery on his fingers and will feel _so fucking good_ around his dick and who cares if this is a library? Literally, _who the fuck cares?_

Clint shifts his grip around her thighs and pushes into her, biting his lip to stop himself from coming or crying out. She’s so warm and perfect around him, with her fingers digging into the back of his head and her legs tight around his waist. He starts thrusting immediately, snapping his hips with urgency because he’s not going to last but dammit, he’s not coming before Natasha either. Natasha, who grazes her teeth against his neck and muffles her cries in the collar of his shirt only to pull back and grin at him, wild and unabashed, before snaking a hand between their bodies to rub at her clit.

Natasha tightens around him and Clint’s vision greys at the edges. He shifts, knocking his elbow on the metal shelves and hissing through his teeth.

“Careful now,” Natasha says, a smile trapped between the words. “Wouldn’t want to – ”

She cuts herself off with a moan that she only just manages to muffle against his mouth as Clint forces her hard enough against the wall to allow him to let go with one hand and replace her fingers with his. Pushing against her clit, once, twice, three times, until she keens in the back of her throat, high and _loud_ , and comes, sending him tumbling over the edge after her.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Clint says again. He sounds like a broken record, but he can’t think of anything else to say that comes close to what he’s feeling now. Natasha giggles breathlessly into his shoulder, the grip of her legs around his waist loosening until they’re both propped drunkenly against the wall, all remaining motor function focused on just staying upright.

“Ten out of ten,” Natasha says, teasing. She’s shifting against him weirdly and he stands back to give her more room. It’s only when she leans to step out of something that he realises that she’s _removing her ripped panties,_ holy crap. “Would fuck again.”

Clint chokes out an almost hysterical laugh and fumbles to fasten his jeans, hiding the used condom awkwardly (and disgustingly) in the palm of his hand for a lack of anywhere else to put it. He gives Natasha a look that edges far too close to ‘completely out of his depth’ than he’d like, but she just smiles at him, flushed and pleased and not at all mocking. Before cupping his jaw and placing the gentlest of kisses on his cheek. Then she tucks her ruined panties into the front pocket of his jeans.

“C’mon, Barton. That essay isn’t going to write itself, y’know.”


End file.
